#he chooses clothes carefully and with intent

[spilledkaleidoscope]

the skill talk got me thimking

Control: +3 Gearhead: +3 Processor: +2 Survivor: +2 Corpus: +1 A Weak Muscle: +1 Vice: -1 (Kim skills from my fic lol)

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Monster x Reader Headcanons

You find yourself kidnapped into a half-breed family of monsters and humans, for the purpose of an arranged marriage. Luckily for you, the groom is their only pure human, terribly handsome and charming. You'd perhaps appreciate him more if your eyes weren't glued to his monstrous older sibling...

Content: female reader, monster smut, reader is a shameless monster hoe

[Part 2]

You always imagined such kidnappings to be of theatrical intensity, being scooped up against your will as you scream and flail your arms, longing for a savior. The affair itself felt more like a formal summoning. Mysterious men appeared before you and merely announced that your presence is required, unfortunately without the choice of refusal. Might as well. You packed necessities under their polite supervision and now you're sitting at the table, facing multiple strangers who are casually enjoying their lunch. One of them, the head of the family apparently, explains that half-breeds are in a rather sensitive place when one considers human and monster politics. Thus, every now and then, they will do whatever it takes to strengthen their bonds and show good intent towards both species. This time it's an arranged marriage with a fellow human.

Why you, in particular? No need to concern yourself with intricate details. What matters now is that you are to be married soon and your groom is right here, enthusiastically waving in a welcoming greeting. You scan his features and can't help but agree with the family: he is, by all definitions, a conventionally handsome man. His face is carefully chiseled in most elegant, yet masculine features. His voice is confident but warm, and you can tell by the flock of servants hovering around that he's rather popular. After the luxurious meal he guides you around the imposing home, showing you to your room and briefing you on future responsibilities. Caring, attentive, and several other checks that you can easily mark in his favor.

Yet one vital aspect has been omitted. The prince's mesmerizing beauty was rather swiftly discarded once you realized the presence of his older sibling, a pure monster blood towering above everyone else and idly eating his food, uninterested. You managed to hide your blush in time, but you couldn't help throwing curious glances. Might've been easier for everyone involved if they handed out 'monster lover' badges. Alas, you weren't prepared to ever be faced with the choice.

The next day you're awoken by the murmur of diligent work, as both servants and family pace back and forth about their plans. You sneak your way out - since nothing is yet expected of you - and wander until you find your intended target: the beastly sibling is polishing a bizarre weapon you don't recognize in what seems to be a storage room littered with battle memorabilia. He notices your presence and acknowledges you with a bored nod. You ask whether you may observe his current activity and he looks up at you, raising an eyebrow suspiciously before agreeing. Why would you care? Certainly there's more entertaining things for you to do as a soon-to-be bride.

As you listen to his little stories from the battleground (hardy monsters like him are better off fighting, not socializing), you have to pat your cheeks in desperate attempts to cool down your burning blush. "H-how comes you don't have a partner?" You mutter, almost feverish. "Not interested. Plus, who would dare to marry me?" he jokes, focused on the sharp item in his clawed hands. There it is. Hesitation and diplomacy out the window, you rearrange yourself, smoothening your clothing, and whisper: "Well, if I had to choose, I would've preferred you as my husband..."

Once again he stares at you bewildered. Have you come here to mock him or something? A frail, pretty human like you, about to tie the knot with his stunning younger brother, showing up here and behind everyone's backs to openly flirt with him. Ridiculous beyond comprehension. His skin is thick enough to not mind such twisted humor, so if anything he's impressed by your audacity. Alright, if you've come for jokes, he'll comply. He places his weapon down and fully turns to you. A little scare might teach you to be more respectful with your in-laws next time.

With a speedy movement that's barely registered by your eyes, he pushes you on the floor and pins you by the wrists, lowering himself uncomfortably close to your face. "If you tease me like this, I might not be able to hold back." He says as he forces himself to smile extra hard, revealing the multiple rows of fangs. "In fact, I can't guarantee you'd make it out of here alive." Hopefully he isn't going too far with his tactics. He senses your frantic breathing and is about to apologize for continuing your prank, but you blurt out in a daze: "Yes, please! I've been thinking about it ever since I saw you." You're panting for dear life as your face is turning a deep shade of red.

Uh oh. Now this is awkward. You weren't...you weren't kidding. For a moment, he freezes in place, trying to recollect himself to no avail. Fucking your brother's future wife in a storage room in the middle of the day feels like poorly written erotic romance. Then again, he can't deny the sudden urge overwhelming him at the mere thought of it. You're squirming underneath him, gliding your legs across his now obvious bulge. His common sense is hanging by a comically thin thread and he can almost hear the instant when it snaps. Thankfully some leftovers of sanity must have remained in the back of his mind and his lustful grunts while pounding you are kept low enough that no one is notified of your horny deeds. Shutting you up was the bigger challenge.

"Is this too tight, miss?" You spin in front of the mirror and the servant readjusts the lace corset adorning your wedding dress. You have to hold back your yawn. Downright shameless and perverted of you to daydream about your monster boyfriend while trying on bridal gowns, but it's not like you agreed to it to begin with. You were kind of hoping to discuss future dating prospects post-intercourse, but someone had been looking for you shortly afterwards and you struggled to regain your composure. Your scary-looking suitor shooed you away with the promise of a reunion.

Before the servant can reach for the next dress, you both jump, startled by angry shouts coming from the hall. You rush outside to witness the older sibling standing before the head of the family. The wrathful threats were coming from the much smaller half-human. "Y-you can't just decide like that!" He screams. "Of course I can. You're welcome to fight me for it." The monster sibling flashes a smug grin. "Can anyone here defeat me?" His question is met with silence. He spots you and gestures you to come towards him. "I'll say it one more time. Find another human for my brother if you have to. This one is mine." He ends his sentence in a low growl and you shiver underneath his heavy arm. Boy, what a time to be alive.

[strwberri-milk]

hello! i love your works and i would like to suggest how lads men would handle/react if you were drugged when both of you attended an event?

Zayne feels the difference in your body/reaction once the drug starts to take effect. He watches you carefully, fully aware that you didn't seem like you were going to be sick earlier in the day. He immediately tells you to stop eating or drinking anything, unsure what the source of it was.

He'd want to take you to the hospital in case things get worse. Thankfully, he realised quickly enough that something was wrong quickly enough for nothing to really happen. You tease him for worrying too much as he stays by your side, watching closely to see if other symptoms will manifest. There's a slight shake in your voice despite the tease, Zayne cradling you close as he comforts you. He'll try his best to try and find out exactly why you were targeted - if it was intentional or not.

You tell Xavier immediately that you don't feel well. His first response is to scope out the entire crowd, figure out who looks the most suspicious. He wants to go after them but when you tug at his sleeve he'll pause. He tells you to wait in the car and call him if things get worse, tailing the individual.

He returns to the car shortly, hair and clothes only mildly dishevelled as he asks you if you want to go home or if you feel too ill to. He tells you that thankfully it was just something that you can sleep off, not really elaborating on how he got that information.

Rafayel's pissed, especially if you were hurt at his own event. His eyes narrow, immediately locating the person who drugged you. He doesn't want to leave your side but his first response is also violence. You don't want to be separated from him either, holding onto him as you try to keep steady. His response is to care for you, taking you home immediately to ensure you're alright.

He doesn't do anything right away but he doesn't forget faces when it comes to you. You'd never know it but behind the scenes the person who dared hurt you received a rather permanent warning not to touch what's his. He doesn't go out himself, just uses his extensive network as a flex of his reach.

Sylus reacts similarly to Rafayel. He knows the second he starts looking into the crowd with a dark look on his face everybody is going to know that something is wrong and he is not going to tolerate it. He moves through the crowd with purpose, the twins descending upon on either side of you to keep you safe while Sylus seeks out the person who thought they could touch you without his permission.

He chooses not to drag out his punishment - at least, not while you're watching. He simply knocks them out with a strong punch to the jaw, watching them crumple to the ground. He gives the others a smug look, the slight quirk of his brow reminding them just how powerful he is. He then wordlessly leaves with you on his arm, spending the evening monitoring your status.

[matsunoluvr]

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ how you tamed monster!sylus…

warnings: descriptions of some violence, blood, injuries, rushed ending (lol)

character: sylus

link to master list here!!

author’s notes: i saw some theories that sylus is actually inhuman and i’d fucking love if in a past life MC resonated and ‘tamed’ him which is why he’s particularly fond of her, like i’m such a sucker for ‘inhuman’ things gaining humanity through love

my requests are open since i’m running low on ideas hehe :3

more under the cut!

monster!sylus was indifferent to everything at first, if you got hurt you got hurt. why would he feel anything?

he’d hurt many things before, killed many things before. such trivial matters did not bother him.

that was until, somehow he managed to get hurt.

watching you, a human, far more fragile than he could ever be panic over his wound was confusing for him.

the way you frantically dug in your bag to wrap his arm in gauze - his blood seeping into the pale cloth as he watches you, intrigued.

he could stop the bleeding at any moment, any time, but he doesn’t. instead, he opted to watch you flailing over his injury with a neutral expression.

only when he noticed his human form growing a little pale did he decide to stop blood flow to the wound, choosing to inspect the bandage you put on him carefully.

“What use is this?”

picking at the uncomfortable material, you scold him and tell him to ‘keep it on until it heals’ - monster!sylus decides not to tell you he already healed the site as soon as you finished fussing over him

the next time he got hurt, he decided not to heal himself and instead present his injury to you.

holding up his finger which was (basically) broken in half, he looked at you expectantly.

if you weren’t so utterly dumbfounded at the nonchalant manner in which he presented you with a severely mangled appendage you might’ve made a comparison to him and a cat looking at its owner after bringing them a dead rat

monster!sylus who proceeded to watch you freak out a little, fix him up then scold him (again) for being so reckless.

he was interested at the care you took to make it as painless as possible (it was safe to say you were terrible at it, he was trying not to wince the whole time. yeah he was a monster, but why are human bodies really fucking fragile and sensitive?), eyes flitting between your hands and your face

this was probably the first instances of sylus receiving care, being cared about, and holy shit he didn’t know what to do

monster!sylus that would inwardly sigh every time you’d ask him ridiculous questions such as “have you eaten today?” or ��do you think the sunset today is pretty?”

half the time he would scoff or shrug it off, the other half he would respond

when he responded he noticed the excited buzz in your voice as you’d give your own opinion on it - something that he grew to care about

“What do you think of this flower, isn’t it pretty Sylus?”

“It is?”

“It is! At least to me- [insert you talking about your favourite flower].”

*Sylus watching you with intent, beginning of a smile forming at the corners of his mouth.*

monster!sylus who, at one point, sat under a tree with you, looking over the N109 zone towards linkon when his deep voice split through the silence

“Do you like me?”

the sudden and blunt question probably shocked you - your flustered response causing him to grow confused

what was wrong with the question?

was the point of asking not to find out answers one wants to know?

he would simply sit and stare at you until you responded, no matter how long it took you he waited

monster!sylus who finally realised what it felt like to be cared for when you answered ‘yes’, the warm sensation flooding his senses, and he was utterly confused.

it wasn’t as if you’d devoted yourself to him, nor had you sworn your loyalty for life - but the idea that you liked him…

he gave you no response, looking off into the distance as he tried to process the information.

when you asked him ‘Aren’t you going to respond?’ he’s give some bullshit answer along the lines of “You haven’t asked me anything.”

he knows what you were asking.

for some reason, he can’t say anything back.

monster!sylus that slowly began to seek your presence, your company. waiting for you to show up became tiresome, he wanted to be with you.

showing up out of no where - when you were on a walk or entering your residency, he would all of a sudden appear and demand your attention (which you secretly didn’t mind giving).

each visit he’d stay longer, get a little closer, feel a little more.

you taught him how to laugh - well at least give an amused huff, how to do his hair ‘properly’ rather than having it sit erratically on his head.

moving his hair out of his eyes, you swoop it into a neat parting muttering something about not hiding his ‘pretty eyes’, arching over his lids and settling neatly.

however after looking in the mirror, he immediately ran his hand through the hair causing you to almost murder the man on the spot

you taught him how to appreciate cuisines, especially the different variants of drinks.

“This is what brand of wine? Ah… I see.”

you taught him how to treat wounds, how to cook simple foods, each visit a little date on its own.

monster!sylus who inevitably grew fond of you, watching you with a small smile no matter what you did.

if you ever pointed this out, he’d just shrug his shoulders and carry on with whatever he was doing before.

he didn’t notice at first, but you’d somehow managed to work yourself into his life - despite having tried to rid you many times before.

now, your company was second nature. for a solitary creature, he had never before had the chance to appreciate companionship.

you taught him how to.

monster!sylus who quickly learnt your interests. you loved the small, infant cats that would roam the streets - every time you’d stop at a shop, buy some food and nudge it towards the creatures.

you’d take him to ride on a horse - which he complained about being ‘too slow’ and that he could run several paces faster, so you introduced him to motorcycles.

sitting behind you, arms wrapping around your waist as you both sailed through the night air, the city lights your stars.

monster!sylus who you sat next to, head resting against his shoulder.

“Relaxing so easily against me, have you forgotten what I truly am?”

if you’re confused, he’ll spell it out for you. he’s grown used to your obliviousness after all.

a monster

a being birthed by abhorrence, the dirt and filth that humans try so desperately to conceal. no amount of flesh, skin and bone could hide that fact, no amount of blood that spills against his hands could cloak such a stench.

cruel, disgusting, selfish. malevolence was second nature.

sylus who learnt what it felt like to be unconditionally loved in your gentle embrace.

eyes widening with surprise, he’ll ask you if you’re scared of him, you say never. you say that you could never be disgusted by him.

you tell him with so much conviction it may as well have been indoctrinated in the stars.

he couldn’t help but smile at your innocence, your ability to love the unlovable.

sylus who learnt how to feel fear as he watched the wanderer pierce your body - blood spurting from your chest.

his hands are covered in blood - palms slipping against your chest as he tries to plug the hole in your chest.

the warmth of your body, your soul, gushes from you in violent pulses - sylus can feel your trembling breaths, his eyes wide with panic. he fumbles around, cursing louder and louder as he watches you fade away.

“Fuck- fuck. Hold on, keep your eyes open - I can do something about this just wait.”

sylus who watches in despair as the life drains from your eyes, feeling the sharp throb in his eye propel his evol at the wanderer that murdered you

monster!sylus who rips the wanderer’s limb by limb, ensuring that the subject experienced each and every sensation as its soul parted from the mangled corpse

no mercy was shown as he suffocated the creature to death, crushing it’s neck as it squealed.

monster!sylus who stood over a corpse. the corpse of the person who taught him love.

monster!sylus who didn’t attend your funeral.

you never taught him how to grieve, never taught him what to do when you’d leave him - damned with immortality.

monster!sylus who never got to say the words he wanted to.

he could only see you where you lay, sitting helplessly by your tombstone.

it feels as though he’s been stabbed, a burning wound ripping down his throat. he knows the answer now.

“I love you too.”

AN: not proofread as usual i had fun writing the beginning but i had no idea how to finish it - i feel like sylus and MC had a tragic end which is why he’s so forward with his love for them now that he knows he loves them and that their time together can end any moment, unlike their previous life this life he’ll make sure MC knows he’s theirs! :3

[vanilleandclove]

rings of fire | chapter two

ser erryk cargyll x targaryen! reader | chapter one: the twin of politics

After your mother is laid to rest alongside your brother Baelon, your father's council is urging the King to choose another heir, though to Otto Hightower's and the council's distaste, the heir and the spare, are both women. The princess's as fierce and ruly they are, they are still women at the end of discussion.

word count: 2.6k | warnings: reader gets her lick back over viserys, reader gets compared to daemon (when i catch you otto), reader also only cares about honorifics if they aren't used by people she hates | author's note: i kept listening to "grace" by jeff buckley and "so tonight that i might see" by mazzy star while writing this, that is why the reader is progressively irritable. AGAIN (just in case you didn't see my update), preaching to the choir, never talk to or engage into a situationship with a man who plays guitar, even if he looks like kurt cobain.

previous - next

Upon hearing the news of your mother's death, you remained staying at the godswood, standing still, looking intently on the branches that grew above ground. The leaves that were painted crimson, a pop of color from the trees white and pale branches. You've been here time and time again, often gravitating to it whenever you needed an extra-bit of seclusion from the outside world. It has been a day since your mother's death, you awoke from the handmaidens removing the blood-soaked birthing blankets and Otto Hightower announcing the death of your brother, Baelon. You remained in your chambers as you heard your father's curses ring through the Keep, your wails were whispers amongst the walls.

"Y/n" a voice spoke up, a voice belonging to none other than Alicent Hightower, "It is time to ready yourself for the funeral, your father is looking aimlessly for you". You closed your eyes, sclera's both damp and dry from crying endlessly. You did not look back, or show any sign of acknowledgment, simply just walked off from the godswood, when you brushed shoulders, you simply stated.

"Princess".

Walking the halls of the Red Keep, you were only met of looks of pity and fear, fear for your consequences that may become of you from your father's yells and shouts of your name, pity for the obvious reason, you were a motherless child, whose father hardly treated her like that of a daughter. Once you walked past your father's chamber in the Holdfast, you simply nodded at Ser Ryam, who alerted your father of your presence before you wandered to your own chamber. Only then you were met with the likes of Erryk, his brother guarding your sister's chambers.

You nodded whilst looking into his eyes, he saw your pain, your anguish, he only wished to carry it rather than let you go through it on your own. Though he feared it would not be his place, as you entered your chambers, closing the door almost immediately, your handmaidens quickly ran to your side.

Undressing your clothes, to change into your funeral attire. Your handmaiden, Hana gave you a look, seeing the littered healing bruises that were cascading down from your breasts to your inner thigh, only then taking note to the almost fully faded bruise on your neck. You closed your eyes as Hana excused all the other handmaidens out of your chambers.

"I take you had company not so long ago" Hana clicked her tongue, before she helped you dress, carefully choosing her words, "Perhaps some makeup can cover-". You shook your head, knowing your hair would easily cover the lovebite that looked like a near tiny mole. Hana did not press you on the matter only helping you dress before aiding you on your hair. Truth be told, Hana was a second mother to you, in the gaps Viserys left you with as a father, Hana doubled as a mother and father, but amongst all the things she was, she was a trusted confidant.

After dressing, you exited out of your chambers, meeting the gaze of Erryk. "I did not think you would still be taking post Ser Erryk" you broke the silence, stepping out and taking his arm that he held out, keeping eye contact only led for your heart to begin to thump erratically.

"I keep my vow to protect you princess" Erryk answered, "That means both physically and emotionally. Arryk is escorting your sister to the pyre as we speak" he continued as you both walked throughout the halls, "I meant to return Blackfyre to you princess, but I do not believe it to be appropriate at this moment" you glanced over to his hips, where two swords laid to rest. You nodded before responding to the knight.

"I fear Blackfyre dons better on your body than mine" you exasperated as chills ranked throughout your body, "Though the distaste I earned from the Hightower's might spill onto you Ser Erryk".

"I believe it to be worth it, my princess" Erryk told you, upon making it outside, the cold air rushing against both of your faces. He gracefully placed his hand on your waist, situating itself comfortably amongst the fabrics, he squeezed lightly. It was like the stagnant spin of electricity between you, every time you met eyes or laid touch on each other; a spark or multiple.

Once reaching the pyre, Erryk excused himself to be stationed next to his brother and the Kingsguard as you stood next to Rhaenyra- just in front of your father. Daemon muttered to you and Rhaenyra as everyone made their positions upon the pyre, you began to muster a few sobs under your breath. Rhaenyra held your hand tightly; Daemon placed a hand on your shoulder. They wanted you to do it, to burn your mother and brother. Though, Nymeria laid in the Dragonpit, you would not be able to command Syrax.

You bit your lip tightly, looking to your left to see the Kingsguard standing in position, Erryk staring at you intently before nodding at you. Unbeknownst to you, Otto Hightower took note to the glances, as all Kingsguard stared at the pyre, Erryk only stared at you. You nodded to yourself as you let go of your sister's hand, stepping up. Rhaenyra shall be the daughter of the Seven Kingsdoms, whereas Y/n, shall be the daughter of the dragons. Just as Rhaenys and Visenya.

"Syrax" you spoke up, "Dohaeragon issa" you became to gulp, staring at the graves, hearing the voices of your sister and Daemon, looking back at them, earning a simple nod of proceeding from both of them, "Dra-Dracarys" you ordered, Syrax did not relent, seeing to the cremation of your mother and brother, to become ash.

Taking place back to your sister you spoke up, "Visenya, istan se kostōba se nēdenka tala- nykeā diplomat se nykeā drēje jentys" looking at her with glassy irises, "Muñnykeā va moriot compared issa naejot zȳhon, se ao naejot Rhaenys. Though, nyke pāsagon zirȳ naejot sagon keskydoso, ziry iksos Visenya qilōni iksos honored syt zȳhon cruel yet nēdenka temper" your voice did not falter as you spoke to your sister in your mother tongue, earning looks of those around you, "Baelon would emagon issare se prince naejot sagon idealized hae Aegon, lu īlon raqagon ziry nykeā daor" before ending your speech to your sister, "Avy jorrāelan jorrāelagon mandia, īlon issi ry īlon emagon hen each tolie. Ao shall sagon dāria mēre tubis; nyke shall sagon se idañnykeā hen diplomacy".

"Perzys se ānogar" Rhaenyra told you, your house words. Fire and blood.

"Perzys se ānogar" you repeated, looking back at the fire that burned.

Walking the halls of the Keep, hearing the indistinct mutters of your father's meeting as the council posed the question of the succession. Looking across the hall to see Erryk and Arryk walking the way to the chambers of you and Rhaenyra, you sensed Erryk caught a glimpse of you, though he kept to his direction. You sneakily snuck your way into the halls of the council room, a window peeping into the room, just as you overheard more distinctly the conversation.

"Daemon would be another Maegor- If you pass the title of heir to Rhaenyra, if she does not have children, we will see Y/n- another Visenya and Maegor- ascend the throne" Otto pressed. Your jaw clenched tightly; you have shown nothing but peace to the Hightower's. Otto quickly saw his advantage of besmirching the name of your house and forebears.

To hell with 'Maegor the Cruel', whether you liked it or not, he was still of Targaryen blood. Visenya's direct blood might not be flowing through yours, her appearance was yours, her attitude, pride, and drive. Visenya, rider of Vhagar, a woman of politics, a conqueror, a warrior, though only remembered for being the mother of Maegor. Maegor was born cruel they said, though they forget the lack Aegon was a father to Maegor, even as Maegor wielded his blade and rode his dragon- Aenys, as much as a spectacle his parentage was, was Aegon's favorite. Say what you may about Maegor, but for Visenya, she loved and cared for her son and house, for the betterment of each- to the very fucking end.

You would be a mad woman to allow a cunt such as Otto Hightower to blatantly attempt to shame and dishonor your house's name and forebears in order to usurp. You were aware of Otto's other attempt to bring his daughter closer to your father. Your father was weak. Your mother always kept him somewhat strong, she made a man out of him, without her, he was lost puppy. Nevertheless, you left the council room, heaving with anger but with a new sense of pride. They would rather be clueless enough to tear the entirety of the realm apart, than sit a woman, your sister in question, on the Iron Throne. Even though it is the women who conquered the realm as their brother made them as a spectacle for jealously or rivalry, only exemplified in their sons that followed. It is women who united the realm, it is men who want to tear it.

"Valar morghulis" you muttered under your breath.

It was a quick gesture, inviting Erryk into your chambers shamelessly. Undressing yourself in front of him unabashedly, undressing his armor and detaching his cloak, all quick with no regrets. You stood naked and bare in front of him, not a care for oaths sworn to your father. That shameless behavior extended to the fire that ignited within the two of you as Erryk made love to you. He knew what made the daughter of dragons burn.

Your nails clawed at his back as his cock kissed the innards of your walls, his hand finding itself rubbing your clit slowly as it led you tightening on him, it was a fair exchange. Your back arched in response to his cock hitting the anchor of your pussy, though it hurt, the pain was overwhelming masked with the carnal bliss. Kissing his lips intently in order to soften the moans that exuded from both of your mouths. It was a treachery that sex was frowned upon for women who had not been betrothed or married, you had him once, now you cannot get enough. You envied the married and the men of the realm, not enough to find yourself wanting marriage, but enough that you wished you could scream at the top of your lungs the name of the man between your legs.

"Where do you want me to finish princess?" Erryk groaned as his thrusts unrelented, your eyes, the once pale lavender, were closer to black from lust. Your irises were glassy and your face glistened under the candlelight.

"Inside of me" you moaned, Erryk hesitated, afraid of the repercussions, "Please" it was until he sees your face, though mourning, needy, nonetheless. He obeyed your request, seed spilling into your pussy, filling you with enough warmth to keep you warm for the winter. You stood still for a minute, bones shaking with the pleasure. Erryk grunted as he removed his cock from you, breathing erratic as he laid next to you.

A moment of silence ensued before you broke it, "Do you believe it to be true?".

"What to be true princess?" Erryk quirked an eyebrow, repositioning himself to be facing you.

"Valar morghulis and dohaeris" you further stated, "all men must die-".

"And all men must serve" Erryk cut you off and sighed, fixing your hair to be out of your face, "I believe I must believe it in this line of service princess" you looked him intently, "Being a knight, a Kingsguard no less, you must serve the royal family even with the looming idea you might die serving them".

You shook your head in disagreement, "It must be torture to succumb someone of such service" you hand found itself on his peck, as his heart thumped, "I do honor the tradition of the Kingsguard as Visenya wrote it to be true, though living your life in service to another is just as much as a slave and their master".

"You and I see it differently".

"Then, help me understand" you whispered, looking into his eyes once more.

"I took an oath, I chose my path as a knight, granted Arryk and I were chosen" Erryk told you, "Just as they say Targaryens are closer to the gods than that of man, the Kingsguard are their protectors, what makes us different than men?" he posed the rhetoric question, "There are thousands of men roaming the realm, none of whom know how to protect the King and his family, or on my chances, protect the princess who needs no protection".

"It is a great service" you said before teasing, "Though no man in the realm can also, make the princess cum as you do" Erryk's eyes shined of sin, you were an addiction to the man.

"The King has not named an heir" your handmaidens spoke up as you awoke mid-morning, your face urged intrigue, "Daemon shall be the heir interim, though everyone believes and hopes it to be Rhaenyra before the moon turns".

"Daemon?" you spat at your father as Rhaenyra stood idly in the background, your father remained at his model of old Valyria. "Rhaenyra and I have endlessly shaped ourselves to be the heir to the Iron Throne and Dragonstone, that was our seat as it was since the moment we breathed" you started, "You killed mother for your urgency of siring a son! Unless you plan to marry-".

"Y/n!" Viserys shouted, standing up from his seat, "Daemon is my brother-".

"We are your children!" you screamed, "Rhaenyra is your first born, I your second, you forget yourself! Our grandsires Alyssa and Baelon would have proudly sat a woman on the throne!" you continued only before saying the words you needed your father to hear, "Daemon will not be another Maegor, I will be. I will proudly, take back the crown that belongs to my sister as she is more suited for such role, not a man who draws his sword before thinking. Nymeria is much bigger than Caraxes, do not forget, heirs are a diplomatic decision, you choose Daemon, you lose your strongest asset".

"And what would that be?".

"Your second born daughter".

taglist: @wolvestitches @callsignwidow @majoso12

[lina-lovebug]

New Years Kiss

Orm Marius x fem! reader

_

Orm Marius couldn't admit he liked you.

As the son of King Orvax, he was prideful, cunning, malicious and stubborn. He always knew he'd have to fight for his throne, and because of that reality, he's spiteful.

But he's also Atlannas' son. He never spent much time thinking of how they both cared to the brink of it hurting them, or how his love was displayed in actions whilst hers was in encouraging her son to do better with his newfound freedom. In looks, he is his mothers son, but his pride held onto him steadfast.

"(Y/N) is coming."

"(Y/N)?"

Arthur mused, "oh now someone's paying attention."

Orm said nothing but rolled his eyes. His elder brother, Arthur, had a habit of teasing him. Sure, he had grown used to it and had his own retorts, but it had only gotten worse since Arthur figured out that Orm has a crush.

On a human.

"She's hosting, so you better not fuck this up."

Orm sneered, "what are you talking about?"

"New Years Kiss, little bro!" He went to mess up his hair, but Orm dodged him, "when the clock strikes midnight, humans have a tradition of sharing a kiss," Mera explained to him whilst feeding Jr..

"I don't know why you're telling me this because I have no intentions of courting her-"

"When you sound like that, you don't," Arthur cut in, his voice loud even from the kitchen.

Orm is Atlantean, (Y/N) is human.

Logically, it would never work out.

So why even try?

But even as Orm would remind himself of such a glaring difference, the thought would vanish the moment he saw her. He had seen hundreds of Atlantean women in his time, even mermaids, but somehow they were dull in his eyes compared to her. She wasn't just different because she's human, but she genuinely cared about everyone around her. He first claimed she was strange for giving her food to the homeless, or how she was odd for asking the barista how her day was.

Because it's a pure act of innocence that he hadn't seen in a long time.

And its what drew him in even further.

Despite his claims, Orm still found himself picking off any piece of lint or fur on his clothing and made sure he smelt just like that candle she loved so much.

And a dash of that cologne that Arthur wears.

"Oh, he just keeps growing! Jr, I thought we talked about this. You need to stay cute forever," (Y/N) loved seeing Jr.. Her face lit up in joy anytime she saw the little prince, and Orm felt a pang of jealousy.

Then realized.

He's jealous of a toddler.

"Help yourself! The potato skins are almost done," You had done the most to avoid Orms intense gaze but with those eyes? It was nearly impossible.

"Orm, how was your Christmas?" You asked, a tad bit nervous as he came inside and took his shoes off. He was always respectful of your home.

"Arthur gave me a fish."

"Did you name it?"

He looked at you for a moment, ". . .his name is Triton."

His deadpan voice with that line made you smile, and you brought out a small box from your back.

"What's this?" He asked carefully, watching it in your hand.

"Well since I couldn't make it for Christmas, I thought you could have it today," you explained, a small feeling bubbling in your stomach. You saw it and immediately thought of him, but never saw Orm wear jewelry a day in his life.

"It's for me?" He felt his heart skip a beat as he took it carefully and unwrapped it. It was a small box and went it opened up, his pupils dilated at the gift inside.

"I know how it feels to not be able to go home," you explained as he pulled it out of the box, admiring it, "so I thought you'd like something that reminds you of it."

It's a ring with carefully carved ocean waves along the side. You could relate to Orm in that way - being exiled. Well, it wasn't exactly exile, but it was always one way or the highway with your parents.

Choosing your own happiness came with a cost.

"And it's stainless steel, so it won't tarnish in the water," I added nervously.

"It's beautiful," he finally spoke up, slipping it on his right hand. He met your gaze with a nervous smile, "you didn't have to-"

"(Y/N), I think the potato skins are burning!"

"Fuck!" You shouted, running to the kitchen. Orm admired the ring for a bit longer, enjoying the warmth it brought it him before joining the others.

The evening was quite eventful, to say the least.

Arthur ate half of the food all whilst sharing pictures of Jr., and then Mera had started to feel ill. You apologized if something was overcooked or undercooked, but Mera insisted she had been feeling off all day.

Leaving you and Orm.

Alone.

He sat on the couch like a stuff board, suddenly hyperaware of his own breathing and kept glancing at you across the couch.

"I-"

"What-"

You chuckled, "sorry. You first."

Orm said softly, "it is nothing of importance. Please."

"Want to see the fireworks? It's almost midnight," Orm hadn't heard much of them before being banished to the surface. Only that they were loud and he refused to go outside.

But for you?

He'd say yes.

Since it was cold outside, you grabbed a blanket from the couch and wrapped it around you before slipping on shark slippers.

"I'm sorry if this has been a rough New Years Eve. I'm usually a better cook than tonight," you apologized, "I've just been feeling weird lately."

"Is it a human sickness?" Orm questioned, still keeping a small distance from you, for fear his heart might burst from his chest.

You blushed lightly, taking a small step closer to him, "something like that."

"Well. . .I hope you feel better."

Dense as always.

You took the initiative to step closer to him, your hands keeping themselves on the railing of your porch. The wood creaked lightly, and Orm wanted nothing more than to hold your hands.

"Humans get cold easily, correct?" He knew this but wanted to sound dumber for this.

"Yeah, why?" You asked, looking up at him.

He said nothing else but gathered your hands in his, cupping them together. You faced him but looked down, completely sure your face was scarlet.

"Guess I should have worn gloves," you muttered.

"I like it better this way," Orm confessed, meeting your gaze in your own shock.

It's now or never, he thought.

"I hated your kind," what a fucking way to start, "and what you did to the ocean. I wanted to blame all of you, for surely no one was innocent. . .but I have never seen something so pure in their efforts. You are shameless with your kindness, and it used to befuddle me. Why would anyone do things without expectations? Nothing to return back?"

"Orm," you breathed out. Surely he wasn't going to say it? Surely the fucking Prince of Atlantis didn't fall for a land dweller?

"You're incredible," He confessed, a small smile teasing at his lips, "You're the best of your people, and. . .and I. . ." He felt like words couldn't describe what he felt.

So he led with action, and kissed you.

His lips were nothing like you'd imagined. They were soft, and supple against your own, which you were lucky enough to remember your strawberry chapstick today. You leaned further into the kiss, and one hand came up to cradle your cheek. He wanted to continue on, memorize your lips against his - the very euphoria it brought him.

But a loud bang separated you both.

The fireworks started, bright reds, greens, blues - all lighting up the sky. You leaned your head against his chest with a laugh, "that scared the shit out of me."

His arms wrapped around your frame, ensuring your warmth as the colors in the sky danced in his eyes.

"I was your New Years kiss," He said absent-mindedly, and you looked up at him.

"Did Arthur tell you to plan this?"

He chuckled, "oh no. He may be older but he's not that smart."

"You're so mean," you playfully smacked his chest.

"But never to you," He planted a loving kiss on your forehead, silently thanking his brother for having Mera fake her illness so that he could do this.

I'm a fucking dumbass. I wrote this but passed out at 1am 🤦‍♀️

[rahuratna]

Nanami Kento: Relationship Headcanons (now a fic), Part 8

Contents: relationship, establishing feelings, angst, first arguments.

Warning: MDNI!! Content warnings will be given for the relevant chapters. But before that ... the angst.

Your assurances that you had enjoyed what had happened in your office sparked something new between the two of you. Every time Kento saw you, his fingers were seeking out yours. His hand was always on your waist or lower back, sometimes unconsciously. You were beginning to learn just how much he was a man of restraint, how he reigned in so many of his natural instincts on a daily basis. He seemed to be wearing the armour that the world demanded of him, but as time passed, that same emotional apparel was shed, bit by bit, when he was in your presence.

The concept was so foreign to him, that Kento seemed to be surprised by how he had no control over those aspects of his personality that you brought to the surface.

For instance, on the evening that you had your first argument with him.

He had returned from a mission, covered head to toe in the foulest combination of sludge and rancid water, his suit ruined beyond repair and various bruises already blooming on his skin.

It had been a solo mission and several higher grade spirits had been present. Although not badly injured, Kento was exhausted, sore and in a foul mood over the lack of detail in his prior briefing. Showered, dressed in a mismatched set of clothes borrowed from Gojo, purplish discoloration spreading up from his collar, he paced your office.

"Is it too much to ask that they simply confirm mission parameters? That they provide us with updated blueprints? That we get back-up in case of emergencies? Oh, don't get me wrong. I've always known how little our lives mean, how they spend us like cheap currency, but this... this is just shoddy and lax and poorly planned - "

You brewed him tea as he ranted, a certain heaviness, a razor edge that dug into some deep part of you, furrowing your brow as you glanced back at him. He was right, of course. The rarely seen higher-ups often used their sorcerers like pawns in chess games, sometimes losing sight of the value of human life from their rarefied strata.

You waited for the tea to reach just the right temperature, choosing your words carefully. In a pause in his speech, you asked the question you already knew the answer to.

"Do you really think it's a coincidence?"

He stopped, facing the far wall.

"Why do you mean?"

"Do you think I don't know what happened on Takuma's mission?"

Takuma Ino, a young sorcerer, going so far as to deny himself a grade one sorcerer class unless his recommendation came from Kento, had been the victim of similar incompetence just last week. Kento turned to you now, and his expression was carefully blank in a way that made you want to grab his shoulders and shake him.

"Ah. You know about that?"

"Of course I know. You called an intervention. You were angry, and you made them look incompetent. This is retaliation for that, Kento, however you look at it. They can't interfere to the extent where your life may be in danger, but look at what they did."

His body was now rigid, his mouth set in a tense, stubborn line.

"And what did you expect me to do? Sit back and let them get away with placing young sorcerers in danger?"

The teaspoon clattered into the saucer as you spun around to face him fully.

"What? Why would I ever question your need to do that?"

"Well, it certainly sounded like a criticism."

"That's because it was a criticism. But not of your intention, Kento. Are you being wilfully obtuse?"

"Then what did you expect me to do?"

"Handle it better. Are you telling me you don't know how their egos would have been affected? That's you didn't know how that could have backfired?"

"Am I now to be responsible for the failings of others? Am I suppose to pander to these ... these ..."

It was testament to his rage that he couldn't even come up with adequate words that would convey his disgust for these people. You closed your eyes and passed a hand over your brow.

"No. I don't expect you to do that. Never. But Kento, sometimes your temper does get the better of you. You do make rash decisions, especially if it's on matters that are ... very personal to you."

You knew, of course. Once he'd mentioned the name Haibara, you'd looked through the records. The crisp, clinical phrases on the yellowing pages of the autopsy report spoke volumes on what had been omitted.

The range of emotions that crossed his face surprised you, almost making you wish you could take the words back. But it had been the truth. He looked taken aback, the surprise chased shortly by anger, and then a flash of something deeply pained, a small twist of the knife.

"If that's how you feel, then - "

"Don't finish that sentence, Kento."

Your voice is quiet, firm, and he actually pauses.

"Because I haven't finished what I was going to say. Please listen. You took that decision, and I understand your anger. I understand it completely. But you did it with no sense of self-preservation whatsoever. Do you think I don't know how little you think of yourself when others are in danger?"

You took a steadying breath, willing your voice to remain even, to reign in the emotion that threatened to roughen the edges of what you had to say to him.

"You had every right to stand up for Takuma. But in future, if you want to do things like that, at your own expense, run it by me first. Because it seems like I'm the only one who has your best interests in mind. You certainly don't."

"My best interests? I - "

He seemed at a loss in terms of how to respond to this. His jaw worked in furious frustration, but then he stopped, strode to the door and flung it open, his heavy footsteps carrying him away from the office, away from you.

You released a breath you had been holding and clutched the edge of the table, a horrible vice closing around your throat. You had always hated confrontation, and this was no exception. But this time, you hadn't been able to help yourself. It was as if something tenacious, something steel-clad and oblivious to your fear had risen to the surface. You couldn't have let him go without hearing what you really thought, even if you wanted to.

And now, you were left to face the consequences. Sinking into your chair, you let your head drop wearily into your palms.

Is this what caring for someone meant? Was this the bereft ache that you were supposed to feel when he was angry, when he was hurt, when he was gone? How had you gone through your whole adult life and still found yourself so ill-equipped to deal with the feelings he left scattered around you? Feelings that you now gathered up and hoarded in a protective layer around yourself, clinging so desperately to the idea that what you said hadn't been wrong.

Had it?

Someone was approaching the office and you straightened hurriedly, taking a deep breath, attempting some form of composure before you had to face your professional demands.

Kento strode back in, as precipitously as he had left, this time closing the door behind him and locking it. You stared at him, dumbfounded, steeling yourself for what he had to say. He regarded you in silence, and you took him in, fully this time.

His eyes were slightly red-rimmed, raw looking. The ugly abrasions stood out more starkly against his skin. His hair was completely out of its usual style, falling softly around his cheeks. Those same cheeks that you had traced with such tenderness now seemed so shadowed, so gaunt. His plain grey work shirt, the spare he'd kept at the Tech, clashed with the black trackpants that Gojo had provided, lending his dignified bearing a distinct pathos. There was a tender, bruised quality to the set of his mouth, a vulnerability in his glance that you had never seen before.

You realised, then, that in his own way, he was letting you see it, all of it.

Wordlessly you held your arms out to him and he came forward, almost child-like in his direct approach. He got down on one knee and his head drooped slowly into your lap, a heavy sigh escaping him as your embrace enclosed his shoulders. You held him tightly against your chest, feeling the solidity and power in his frame, wondering how long it had been since anyone had leant him their strength.

Time passed, your time at work. You thought of your employers, sitting in comfort while this man fought with every silent breath for some semblance of justice, for something good in this world. You breathed in the warm scent of his scalp and held him tighter as shadows lengthened in the room. If your time and livelihood were also currency to them, then let it be spent like this.

He apologizes for his outburst, of course, and this time there is a wariness there, as if he is aware of just how much he has shown and cannot believe that you will actually accept it. He avoids coming to your office, stating that he distracted you from your work enough with the issues he brings and wanted to keep your meetings strictly outside of work, or in the break room, where your interaction would be one of forced professionalism.

If he had been any other kind of man, you might have found it frustrating. There was something else here, though, some subtle message (maybe one that even he was unaware of), an indication that something needed to be proven. You were determined to rise to the occasion.

And so, you made your plans.

You called him one evening, on a Thursday. You had not seen him at work. You decide to forgo messaging, because you missed his voice. He picked up almost immediately, speaking your name, his tone slightly surprised, but warm.

"Kento, I need to know something."

"Yes, dear?"

"Are you busy this Sunday?"

"No. I was going to ask you to spend the day with me."

"Well, I'm asking you now."

"To spend the day together?"

"Yes."

He pauses and a soft chuckle reaches your ear.

"Does it make a difference who asks?"

"Yes, it does. For this Sunday."

"And why is that?"

"Because I've made plans for us."

"You have?"

"Absolutely. You can't always be the one planning our dates."

"I see nothing wrong with that. But, pardon my curiosity, where are we going?"

"It's a surprise, Kento."

"Oh no."

"What do you mean 'oh no'?"

"Nothing at all."

"Explain."

"A slip of the tongue, my darling."

"A slip of the tongue, my foot."

"And a most delightful foot it is."

"Stop slithering your way out of things."

"I take offense to that word."

"Anyway, I'll give you a hint. Since I'm an exceptionally kind person."

"I'm eager to hear it."

You clear your throat.

"Dress for the outdoors."

"Are you sure about that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, when you say that to me, I imagine tough trousers, hiking boots, a walking stick ... "

"Oh no. None of that."

"Ah. So you mean outdoors, but your kind of outdoors."

"My kind?"

"Lazing in the sunshine and eating grapes."

You let out an incredulous laugh.

"You're awfully cheeky today, aren't you?"

His voice immediately takes on a lower, smoky tone.

"Am I going to be punished for that?"

Oh no, you don't, sir.

"Yes. I'll punish you. With a large quantity of grapes."

There is a short silence.

"Hmm."

"Aren't you going to ask me what I'm going to do with those grapes?"

"Maybe I'll wait for Sunday, after all."

Sunday comes and you feel both excited and a sense of nervous anticipation. You've never planned a date to this extent before. You've hired a car from the Tech for the day, one of the company cars that are always available for employees. You're aware that you might just be abusing the privilege, but you've never used this particular perk before and you're feeling slightly rebellious.

You've picked the perfect spot for a picnic, in a private piece of land owned by an old family friend. You'd spent many childhood days there when times were better and your mother had still been with you. The land was now cared for by a third party, but you were one of the people who still had access, and you could imagine the place clearly in your mind's eye.

Food, of course, played an important role in this. You'd thought out the menu well in advance and purchased all the ingredients you'd needed the previous day. You were going to prepare his special sandwich, of course, along with a green salad with fresh corn and avocado, onigiri with various fillings, croquettes, marinaded artichokes with parmesan, some of those store-bought honey cakes, coffee jelly, along with a small tribute to your mother's simple favourite, sandwiches with mature cheddar, cucumber and the mint chutney she had taught you the recipe for. Champagne and bottled water would be carried carefully along in the hamper, along with glasses, cutlery and plates.

You'd made sure that you'd woken up early and prepared everything that needed to be made fresh. When it was time, you sent Kento a short message, telling him that you'd fetch him from outside his apartment, and headed there. It had been a while since you had driven, but the muscle memory was there, the steering fluid under your fingers, and you'd re-adjusted in no time. You felt somewhat proud, and confident that today would go off without a hitch.

Kento was waiting on the street corner, and the sight of him momentarily stole the breath from your lungs. The collar of his white shirt showed above a simple, plaid sweater, light colored jeans emphasizing his long legs, rugged brown shoes and his customary watch, glinting from beneath his sleeve, completing the ensemble. There was no sign of the dark glasses and his hair was not slicked back, lending him a relaxed and casual air. As you drew closer, you could see the remaining yellowish traces of bruising against the side of his neck.

His eyes travelled over to the car, and when he spotted you behind the wheel, they softened and creased at the corners, with a warmth that you still couldn't believe was directed at you. He climbed into the passenger seat and your fingers met his, naturally.

"Good morning, handsome."

He coughed and shifted in his seat, still not accustomed to your teasing, but heartfelt compliments.

"Good - well, hello."

His warm grasp was now trailing along your arm, belying the awkwardness of his words, and you laughed.

"Shall we?"

You shifted gear and set the car in motion. Soon, you were out of the city limits, the clear autumn air crisp and warm enough for you both to let down the windows at intervals, taking in the breeze. Kento's hair caught the morning sunlight, the shorter strands at the nape of his neck suddenly, tenderly visible. You want to run your fingers over them, but you knew you'd get a scolding for not paying attention to the road.

He spoke, not taking his eyes off the scenery.

"The other day. In your office."

"Kento. I told you that everything's fine between us."

"I know it is, but there's still something I want to say to you."

"Go ahead."

The effort with which he forms the next words tells you how difficult it is for him to express thoughts like this.

"When you ... held me, I felt ... different. Like something had changed in my life, so profoundly. I felt as if ... a heaviness I had been carrying for so long had lifted a little. When I went home that day, I ... I remembered my friend. I let myself think of him. Of happy times. I've never really been able to do that before."

You're smiling softly and his fingers are tracing the shape of your arm again.

"That's good, right?"

"I think so. For me, that is. But I need to know ... "

"You need to know if those same burdens are not being passed to me, correct?"

He looks at you, and from this angle, you can see something of the wonder in his gaze. You laugh.

"It's already pretty obvious when you're with Yuuji. All that darkness you want to keep away from him. From all the students. I know, Kento. I know the kind of world we live in. I know that you can't protect everyone forever. Those burdens are not yours to give, or take away. At some point, you have to trust that ... it is enough."

"That what is enough?"

Love. That's what you want to say to him. That love is enough to carry you through the worst of what the world has to offer. But you don't. This time and place isn't right. Instead, you turned your eyes briefly to the sun shining through the trees ahead.

"Today is a beautiful day, isn't it?"

"It is."

@tsukimefuku @g-kleran @actuallysaiyan @kentocalls

[tteokdoroki]

Look me in the eye tell Nagi doesn’t stand behind his girlfriend groping her boobs like stress ball. Non sexual. Just squish 💀🥲

grabs you by the face and looks you directly in the eye - you are so right!!! 

you hear the jingle of his keys and the door opening before you see him but don’t bother to look up as you work on finishing off the dishes. 

on good days, nagi greets you with a call of your name — languidly, albeit excitedly, making his way to whatever room you respond from so he can flop into your lap and have you play with his hair as a way to wind down. today, there’s nothing but silence only interrupted by pockets of nagi’s sneakers squeaking against the hardwood floors of your homey hallways before the warmth of his chest is pressed up against your back. 

“hey baby,” you coo, voice brimming with considerateness and affection as you continue to wash dishes from the night before. “bad day?” 

seishiro makes a noncommittal noise before his head drops to your neck, snow white locks tickling just under your chin while his hands settle on the gentle slope of your waist — itching to move upwards.

“wanna talk about it?” 

“mmh, no. don’t wanna be a bother.” he replies absentmindedly, twirling a loose thread on the hem of your (his) shirt to distract from the thoughts weighing heavy on your mind. “s’too much of a drag to think about anyways.” 

as nonchalant as your boyfriend presents, you can always tell when something irks him a little more than usual. “ you’re never a bother to me, seishiro. don’t be silly, feeling like this might go away if you tell me.” you choose your words carefully, hearing him hum against your shoulder as his lashes flutter against your skin. nagi’s quieter when he’s in a bad mood, his face is usually blank but his deep grey eyes will tell all — so as you lean forward to place a plate on the drying rack, you spare nagi a knowing glance. 

your shirt rides up when you lean forward and so do his large and calloused hands, reaching your supple chest before you can even realise. blue lock’s genius lets out a sigh of relief as he squeezes your breasts between his fingers — choosing that exact moment to speak. 

he’s just happy that you’re wearing nothing underneath his clothes. “i think reo’s mad at me again.” 

“oh baby, what makes you say that?” resuming your task, you rinse the suds off of your favourite mug and listen intently — smiling to yourself when your boyfriend gives you another squeeze. 

“i dunno…i got partnered up with isagi for drills today…” nagi pushes your boobs up and breathes out in content, rolling the warm mounds of flesh in the palms of his hands. “‘n he just seemed mad, bringing up the fact that i chose isagi over him at the second selection. such a pain. s’been years, shouldn’t he be like… over it?” squeeze. 

proud of him for communicating his feelings properly, you angle your head to give nagi a kiss to the side of his own. he bristles at the warm contact of your lips against his skin, letting your chest go with one hand to draw loving patterns over your tummy. 

“i can see why he might be hurt or upset but, like you said, it has been years and you needed to do what you thought was best, to become the best.” you shrug simply, ignoring the heat bubbling below your surface as seishiro squeezes and pinches and massages all of the places that make tick. you decide to worry about that later, because right now all he needs is comfort and stress relief. “you didn’t do anything wrong baby, but if this is still bothering you by tomorrow then you’ll need to talk to reo about it, kay?”

these a beat of silence where nagi trails kisses down from your neck to your shoulder before slumping against you entirely. “yeah okay, it’ll be a hassle. but i will.” he mumbles, dropping his arms to wrap securely around your waist — with no intention of letting you go. “can we go for a nap now? my feet hurt ‘n i wanna lie on your boobs.” 

“seishiro, i’ve been letting you cop a feel for the last ten minutes!” you squeal as he pinches up your sides again, playfully. “these dishes aren’t gonna do themselves!”

you feel the white-haired player smirk against you, nuzzling his head into the junction of your neck one more. this time he sneaks his hand under the cotton material to pinch one of your nipples, 

 “dishes can wait, you know it feels better if i touch you when my clothes aren’t in the way, angel.” 

[caffedrine]

Chevalier Michel - I fell in love with you that day – Choose your true love - Event Summary

This is mostly a summary for me - I make no promises on the accuracy of what’s happening. I’m not nearly fluent enough to get half the jokes/innuendo much less accurate plot points.

When Emma wakes up, she is in a pitch-black forest, which is weird since the last thing she remembers is waiting for Chevalier in his library.

There’s a unique smell to the forest, iron and something burning. As far as dreams go, this one is very vivid, and Emma trembles as the smell triggers memories of the last time she participated in a war. Thankfully, she cant hear any sounds of fighting around her, so she’s safe for now.

Her heart pounding, Emma forces her legs to carry her forward, until she enters a clearing with a large lake reflecting the moonlight. And on the edge of the lake, wearing a dark cloak is a familiar figure.

Emma calls out to Chevalier as she hurries towards him, the smell of blood and battle growing stronger as she nears him. She can see that Chevalier’s clothes are covered in something red, and he kneels down to scoop up water to wash himself.

Drawing close to him, Emma asks what happened and reaches out to touch him.

Chevalier recoils from her, unsheathing his sword and resting the tip just at her throat. He demands to know who she is. Very carefully, Emma tells him her name.

(Actually, this is just how he says 'hello')

Not helpful. Chevalier does not recognize the name nor the person.

Is this really Chevalier in front of her? His eyes are so cold that Emma can feel her blood freeze, and the traces of warmth she is used to is gone. She remembers back when she first met Chevalier, the ruthless bestial gaze, but this might be even worse. She can feel the hostility radiate from him, and it’s intense enough that she can’t breathe.

Chevalier tells her to run away, unless she wants to be killed. The tip of his sword is just touching the skin at her neck. The murderous intent half-convinces Emma that if she moves at all, he will chop of her head.

Emma mentally calms herself down, taking one deep breath after another. She needs to figure out what is going on.

Feeling better, Emma looks into Chevalier’s murderous gaze and asks him what is going on. She explains that she was reading back at the castle and suddenly she was here. It looks like he’s covered in blood, and it looks like a war is going on, so she’s understandably confused.

Chevalier doesn’t answer her.

But the hositilty has decreased, so he lowers his sword.

Chevalier sheathes his sword, turns, and walks away. Unlike usual, there is no ‘come with me’ look, but Emma decides to follow him. She doesn’t want to be alone in this place, even if it means being with a Chevalier who does not know her.

Upon returning to the forest, two people intercept Chevalier. His younger brother, Clavis, and the traitor knight, Sir Flandres. It’s the later that puts things into place for Emma, Flandres was a knight of the foreign policy faction 10 years ago

Both Clavis and Flandres were too agitated to even notice her and focused on Chevalier. Flandres begs Chevalier to reconsider, his family is among the 1,000 hostages captured by Obsidian. He asks if Chevalier really intends to abandon all those he has sworn to protect? If they mobilize the knights, then maybe they can save them.

Chevalier refuses to change his decision, even though Clavis argues that they could still win. Chevalier reminds them that Obsidian has firearms, and if they walk into the obvious trap, the 1,000 citizens will die along with the knights. Flandres asks if they could do a more covert operation to save them, but Chevalier refuses to waste the military power on this.

Clavis reminds him that he is consigning 1,000 people to death. Chevalier reminds Clavis that they are at war, people are going to die, but if they don’t win, then the entire country will be wiped off the map. He is getting tired of saying the exact same thing over and over again. Chevalier pushes past the two, as they stare at his speechless.

Somehow Emma was transported to 10 years in the past, when Rhodolite was invaded by Obsidian and all 7 princes went to the battlefield.

She is at the day when Chevalier let 1,000 hostages die, the Blood-Stained Rose Day.

Emma has no explanation of why she is here and how she went back in time, but this is too real to be just a dream.

She sits near Chevalier in the command tent as soldiers bring in reports. And each report is dire – with them losing land and Chevalier making decisions to abandon one battle and send more troops to another.

One of the scouts reports the Supreme Commander of the Obsidian Army was briefly spotted, and Chevalier asks if they have spotted Ever-Victorious Marshal. Nope, Gilbert is suspiciously absent. Chevalier muses that if they manage to kill the emperor, the fighting will be over. A soldier points out that the Supreme Commander, the Emperor of Obsidian, is the best fighter on the continent, no one can kill him.

Chevalier tells them to send for him the moment they pinpoint the Emperor’s position, he will fight him himself. He warns them not to engage the Emperor.

As the soldier leaves to spread Chevalier’s orders regarding the Emperor, another scout comes with more reports.

So far, with everyone focused on Chevalier, no one has noticed her. Or maybe they have, they just have other things to worry about. Instead, Emma is left by herself to listen to Chevalier give out order after order, and she is quickly overwhelmed by the cruelty of the war. As the night breaks into day, Emma feels a little safer, but it is impossible to relax.

Lucian, a face Emma can recognize, comes forward with an urgent report. Chevalier doesn’t even need to hear it to know, his stupid brother went and did it, right? Lucian asks if Chevalier was expecting it, and Chevalier admits that he wishes he wasn’t.

The other side now has Clavis and is demanding hostage negotiations. How would Chevalier like to handle this?

Chevalier tells Lucian to ignore the demand, if his stupid brother got himself into this situation, he can get himself out. Chevalier has made it clear that he does not intend to negotiate.

Even Emma is chilled by his disregard, and she has the advantage of knowing exactly how it will turn out.

One of the nearby soldiers objects and asks if Chevalier is sure. Chevalier reminds him that Clavis entered the enemy camp on his own, and he asks how many people should he sacrifice to rescue Clavis? The soldier backs down, and Chevalier tells the soldier not to think about unnecessary things and focus on their roles.

Emma muses that even though Clavis is his brother, Chevalier has no doubt in his decision to abandon him. She understands that if Chevalier makes the wrong choice, Rhodolite will be overrun by Obsidian troops and lose the war. He accepts the responsibility of making the ultimate judgments on the battlefield, right or wrong.

As Emma thinks about what Chevalier and the others are going through, Lucien abruptly looks at Emma and asks who she is.

Chevalier shrugs, he has no idea either. She just started following him and didn’t run away.

Eventually, the reports stop, and Chevalier calls for Lucien. He’s going to go for a walk. Lucien asks if he should come with him, but Chevalier tells him not to. Lucien then tells Chevalier to be careful.

Emma decides to join Chevalier, she doesn’t want to stay behind without him.

Chevalier makes a beeline into the forest, and judging from the way he’s moving, he seems to have a destination in mind. This isn’t the casual break she was expecting. As she frantically follows him, Chevalier abruptly stops. He warns her that if she continues to follow him, he won’t guarantee she’ll live. Emma assures him that she’s not worried, and unless he really can’t have her with him, she would still like to accompany him. She wants to know what happened during the Blood-Stained Rose Day. Chevalier is visibly confused, and Emma realizes that this war doesn’t even have a name yet. Chevalier calls her strange, snorts, and continues forward.

Under the cover of darkness, Chevalier hides in the shadows. There are multiple tents pitched nearby, all bearing the Obsidian Crest.

Emma is shocked at how easily Chevalier is approaching enemy territory, but he seems to be handling the situation. Looking at the tents, Emma is surprised at how few soldiers she can see.

Just as Emma begins to second guess herself, Chevalier unsheathes his sword and boldly walks into the enemy camp. The soldiers all shout in alarm and recognize Chevalier as the enemy commander. The soldiers at the front aim their firearms at Chevalier, but he is too fast and swings his sword before they can fire. For the first time in a while, Emma sees people die in front of her. Only a few soldiers have firearms, and the rest attack with melee weapons, but are struck down in turn.

Emma is shaking from the sight, but with no signs of reinforcements coming, she steels her legs and watches Chevalier. Finished with the soldiers, Chevalier enters the largest tent in the camp, only to quickly emerge, dragging a man with him by the hair.

The man is wearing a commander’s uniform, and he is shouting at Chevalier to release him and threatening him. Chevalier ignores him, throws him to the ground, and stabs the man through the shoulder with his sword. The man threatens that if Chevalier won’t stop, he won’t rescind the order to burn alive all those prisoners of war. Chevalier stabs him through his other shoulder, pointing out that the execution is already happening right this moment. He notes that since this commander and his subordinates are here, that means they didn’t have the stomach to see their execution orders carried through.

Thanks to that cowardice, it made it easier for Chevalier to find and dispose of them.

Chevalier stabs the commander in the shoulder again, and then in the legs, and the commander screams. This is the first time that Emma ever saw Chevalier purposefully torture someone. He’s angry, very angry.

Chevalier explains that he has just sacrificed 1,000 people to kill him, one of the army commanders. But what is the point in just killing him?

Chevalier throws the commander into a nearby tent, grabs a torch, and sets the tent on fire. The commander starts screaming, and Emma realizes that some of the wounds Chevalier inflicted on him made him unable to use his legs.

Emma realizes that Chevalier always knew what would happen when he allowed those hostages to die, and used their sacrifice to kill one of the enemy generals. With the gift of hindsight, Emma knows that this was instrumental to him saving Rhodolite.

Chevalier, framed by the blazing tent fire, looked calm, but Emma knew that his insides were boiling with rage. She can feel the palpable anger at the loss of all those people and knows that this decision will nearly bring about a civil war in the future. Everyone said Chevalier was a merciless beast that left those people to die, but the truth is that Chevalier didn’t want them to die in the first place. He had just decided to shoulder the burden of all those deaths in exchange for a future for Rhodolite.

Eventually the sound of the commander’s screams stops, and Chevalier sheathes his sword, checking the flames. Satisfied, he turns to leave, passing by Emma who is still hiding in the shadows. She struggles to chase after him.

Chevalier abruptly stops and asks how long she intends to follow him. Emma assures him that she won’t bother him, and to please allow her to stay near.

For the first time, Chevalier turns to face her. He is caked with dirt, sweat, and blood, but somehow remains noble and pure. He notes that there are few women who can see all of this and remain normal. But Emma has barely started crying. She’s not a soldier, but she seems used to the battlefield.

No, that’s not right.

Emma is used to Chevalier.

Who is she?

Chevalier roughly grabs her and her wedding ring shines faintly in the moonlight. Chevalier has figured out that Emma is in love with him, but why?

With Chevalier looking down at her, stinking of blood instead of roses, Emma looks into his eyes and asks how he knew.

Chevalier can tell from her courage, as well as her attitude. Besides, she seems to already know the outcome of the war. This is insane and impossible, but she doesn’t seem from this time.

Even ten years ago, Chevalier was able to deduct accurate conclusions from a small amount of information. Leaving him only with the question of why she loves him.

Emma looks into the eyes of this blood-soaked beast, and though her hand is trembling, she refuses to look away. She wouldn’t be the person she is if she could look away from Chevalier like this.

She admits that there are many reasons why she loves him, but the most important is that he is capable of more love than anyone else.

Chevalier asks if she’s serious.

Emma tells him that she knows he will shoulder the burden of those 1,000 people lost, as well as everyone else who sacrificed themselves in this war. No matter who hate him, he will do what it takes to save as many people as possible. She loves his strong will and sense of responsibility, and the fact that he is human.

Like anyone else, Chevalier feels sadness and anger, proving that he’s not some beast but a human. No matter what, Emma wants to stand next to and support him.

The wind blows, stinking of ash and blood. Emma still feels numb from the scene she’s just seen, but she pushes forward. Chevalier isn’t cruel and heartless, it is this war that makes him seem so. She wants to do everything possible to stop another tragedy like this from repeating.

Emma is still inexperienced and knows too little things, but it is important that she was able to see the Blood-Stained Rose Day up close like this.

She tells Chevalier that she is his fiancé, and she will never let him turn himself into a beast.

After a long moment of silence, Chevalier releases her hand. He knows nothing about her, but if she thinks all that is true, he is interested to see how far she goes.

Chevalier snorts turns, and walks away.

Emma thinks that she’s been chasing his back for a long time now. Now, in the future, she will always chase after him.

When Emma wakes up in the present, the dream lingers and she tells Chevalier about it. He pauses his work, considering it. It is a very strange dream.

Chevalier never told anyone about attacking the commander, and there are no records about it that anyone could have read. He also has no memory of anyone following him to the enemy camp.

Chevalier muses that if it was more than a dream, or just a dream, either way it doesn’t sound pleasant for her. Emma agrees, but she thinks it worthwhile to have occurred.

Awkwardly, Chevalier reaches out and caresses her cheek. Emma thinks he looks a little paler than usual. She feels the warmth of his hand, the warmth of a human. This same hand has been stained with blood so often that Chevalier fears he might be a beast. Even she, who knows him the best, cannot always suppress her fear.

Even though his hand is so gentle with her.

Ten years ago, after their commander was slain, the Obsidian troops lost their morale and withdrew from the villages they had occupied, and the war had been won by Rhodolite. The Emperor had never before been defeated in battle, and the withdraw was unexpectedly thorough.

Rhodolite had lost a lot to this war, but the fact that a small country was able to drive off Obsidian was significant on the global scale. Until that battle, Rhodolite was considered a weak small country, ignored on the global political scale. But, thanks to that victory, Rhodolite is heralded as a beacon of hope to all countries threatened by Obsidian.

Thanks to the sacrifice of all those who died on the battlefield.

Emma agrees that they are where they are today only because of everyone working so hard to protect the country. But the war shouldn’t have happened to begin with. No matter what they say about Rhodolite becoming prominent in victory, Emma cannot bring herself to glorify war.

Chevalier agrees with her sentiment.

Emma doesn’t want to lament her helplessness to stop anything, and she wants to work with Chevalier to build a world where no one needs to become a beast to win a war. She doesn’t want blood to get on Chevalier’s hands ever again.

Chevalier is interested to see how far she will go.

Emma remarks that dream-Chevalier said the same thing to her in the end. Chevalier muses that he must not have changed from who he was back then.

Chevalier pulls Emma’s hand close to him and kisses her fingertips, as if he was swearing a sacred oath. He has no intention of staining her hands with blood either.

Chevalier is someone who will wage a war if he thinks it is necessary. Currently, he’s thinking positively and continues to be a human. As long as the love between them exists, Emma is sure Chevalier will retain his humanity.

She looks at him, at his smile, and thinks about how warm it is.

[todorokies]

Hello! Are your applications still open? If not, then just ignore my post. Can I ask you something sweet with Megumi or Gojo, how would they take care of their s/o when she is not feeling well after a mission. Also do you write for Okkotsu Yuuta and Inumaki Toge?

taking care of their s/o after a mission

including: satoru gojo & megumi fushiguro (separate)

a/n: im so sorry it took a while for me to write this anon, but i hope i delivered to your liking <3 also i write for yuuta but not inumaki but he’s still my baby ^~^

☆ . . . satoru chooses to put you in his high regards. constantly emphasizing your abilities to whomever is within ear length or he’ll always find a way to steer a conversation to make it about you . . . you recently learned and honed a new technique? he will climb the tallest building in japan and announce it to the local citizens. there’s not a single doubt about your capability that lingers in his mind, however, when you come home with a limp, bruises that would take a miracle to heal, and the life drained from your face a harsh reality check slaps him across the face.

you don’t have the same durability as him and not completely invincible to attacks. the thought of you leaving for a mission and possibly not coming back made his throat tighten up like barbwire around the flesh.

he’d offer to run you a hot bath. once you accept, he’ll tenderly wash your hair and carefully massage your back, being mindful of the few knots that cover the corners of your body. kissing those exact spots after each movement of his fingers cascade your figure.

☆ . . . megumi has good intentions but his efforts come off as awkward. he has been in many positions in his life of having to take care of his loved ones, it comes as a second nature to him, however he struggles immensely with romantic vulnerability. 

you make a small appearance at his dorm to greet him after your mission. a pitiful smile plays on your lips as you lean most of your body on the edge of the door. your breathing is jagged while wincing every now and then with a hand resting on your lower abdomen. he immediately invites you, oddly keeping a distance —mainly to observe you— after listening to you retell the details of the mission he offers you painkillers, water, vitamins, and a change of clothes. (his clothes)

although you already visited shoko upon your arrival, he still insists on checking your wounds and bruises; cautiously peeling off the bandage to see if you got properly stitched up. with his callused fingers lightly threading against your fragile skin goosebumps arises met with a shiver going down your spine. the entire act is such an intimate sight to see.

reblogs & feedback is extremely appreciated !! <3 requests are open send em in !

[korpuskat]

Worth

[Ao3 Mirror] Pairing: Ramattra/Reader (GN, has a vagina) Rating: E WC: 1.7k Warnings: Self Image Issues =

Happy one year anniversary to me writing for Ramattra!

=

“A year…” You murmur, tracing along the sharp angles of white. Even sitting in his lap, you have to look up at him, raise your arms up to touch his faceplate. “I can’t believe it’s been a year.”

In turn, his fingertips run along your cheeks, mimicking the motion and returning all of the adoration. “I know. I am… frequently in disbelief that you are here at all.” His synth is toned down, as close to a whisper as he can get.

“That I’m here?” You sputter, stroke one ribbon cable away from his shoulder. “Ramattra, I never understand why you’re here. You-” You laugh at the incredibility of it all; “you’re a leader, a hero. I’m nobody, I don’t-”

“Stop.” His hands on your face stills, turns firm against your jaw. Embarrassment heats your cheeks. “You don’t…” He starts, voice harsh- before his vents click open, releasing a quiet burst of steam as he self-regulates. “You cannot fathom why I choose to be with you?”

You can't meet his gaze. The embarrassment of having admitted it burns as badly as the fact itself that you don't feel worthy of him. You want to brush it off, to pretend you hadn't revealed a crushing vulnerability, but you can't will your lips to move, to lie to him.

Ramattra’s hands skim over your shoulders, down until they settle on your hips. “I am… truly sorry if I have not made you understand.” His thumb dips lower, slides along the crease between your thigh and hip. “May I show you?”

You shiver at his touch, but still you can’t bring yourself to look at him. Deep-rooted shame won’t let you even entertain the thought, so you deflect: “You don’t have to, Rama’, it’s okay, really-”

“But I want to.” He asserts.

Even though you do want his touch- will always want it no matter your thoughts on your worth- it’s difficult to allow yourself. But when he wants to… It’s hard to argue with that… because it would be selfish to say no, right? So carefully, quietly you swallow as much of your apprehension as you can and nod.

Ramattra’s hands shift under your immediately, lifting you, picking you up as though you weighed nothing and pulling you forward while he simultaneously drops onto the bed. His weight makes him bounce softly, but through it all he moves your entire body effortlessly, repositioning you how he likes. And how he likes is depositing you directly on his faceplate.

The view instantly makes you blush- only gets worse as Ramattra’s hands resettle your hips until the hard line of his chin is pressed firmly against your clothed sex. It’s obscene; all you can see of him is the upper half of his faceplate and the cables of his hair that have fanned out around him. You stare into the dark slits that hide his optics and tremble with nervous energy, waiting for an explanation. If Ramattra had a mouth- which you’re fairly sure he doesn’t- his intentions would be obvious. But he doesn't and you're with him holding you against solid metal.

“Tell me,” His vocoder clicks on. His voice is soft, cautious- but the effect is immediate. You gasp, clutch at his hands as his head vibrates between your thighs. Your sudden jolting makes him laugh, the vibrations wavering in time with his ha ha ha, then returns to an even pace as he continues, “I suppose it works, yes?”

As he stops talking, the vocoder clicks off, returning to stillness. You pant, “What… How did you even think of this…?”

“You told me.” Again the plates of his face transmit his voice, purring more confidently now. “You would laugh and say you liked it when I spoke while you kissed me. That you could feel my voice buzzzzZZZing.” The emphasis makes you gasp, squirming against him for more.

“Rama-”

“Shhhh,” He intones and you whine, holding ever harder onto his hands. The cadence of his voice slows, lingering over syllables just to tease you, meandering through towards his point and with it the vibrations against your pussy do the same: “I want you… to consider exactly… where you are right now… exactly what I am doing to you.”

You whimper pitifully, grinding your hips onto the smooth surface of his face to return to the pleasant vibrations of before. But you do obey, peaking your eyes open again to take in the sight of him. He’s gorgeous, dark hair splayed out over the sheets, offset by the bright titanium white of his faceplate, the burning reds of his array. If it were anyone else, perhaps you feel like you’re supposed to be the one in power here, but the grasp he’s keeping over your hips and his cool, unaffected voice buzzing right against your clit keep it very clear. You're here because he wants you to be.

“Do you think I would allow nobody to do this, hmmm?” His vocoder never clicks off, hushing down to a quiet rumble, humming in his throat just to keep it on. Shame makes you duck your head, the implicit praise already too much with the insistence of his voice box purring relentlessly. And distracted as you are, you don’t even realize he moves- one large palm catching both your wrists. The other slides up, under your shirt and immediately tweaks a nipple. You yelp from the pressure- just a touch too sharp to be entirely pleasurable- and Ramattra’s voice raises up again, “That wasn’t rhetorical.”

“No!” Without his hands at your thighs, your hips move in longer strokes, rutting against the inseam of your pants.

His hand at your chest relaxes, spreads out to massage rather than pinch. “No, what?”

You whimper, squeeze your eyes closed. You can’t say it, can’t admit it yourself- and Ramattra’s hands shift, sliding back down to your hips. No longer keeping you pinned against him, he lifts you up to your knees- and for a moment your heart drops in the cold fear of disappointing him.

He tips his head towards the button of your pants. “Take those off.” You don’t move, head swimming in the whiplash of emotions, of praise and self-doubt. But when he speaks again you all but melt, haphazardly undoing the clasps with shaking hands. “I want to feel you.”

The air is cool on your heated skin, but still not as cold as his faceplate. Even with such proximity to his main processors, the outermost layers of his armor are still chilly- makes your hips flinch as you lower yourself back down onto him. Your body soon heats him- even faster as you blush at the obscenity of your bare pussy settling onto the pristine lines of his plates.

“Comfortable?” Ramattra purrs, voice quiet and testing.

You shudder and gasp; without the muffling layers of your clothes it’s so much sharper, radiating more into your thighs. You nod, but adjust slightly, shifting, spreading your lips until your clit presses to his hard metal.

“There are so few things I truly envy in humans,” His voice rumbles softly, but directly against where you need it most. You shiver and grasp blindly below you, burying both hands in his thick, cabled hair as though you could pull him any closer. Even with his voice still lowered, it’s so intense you can’t quite process what he’s said at all until he continues: “That I cannot taste you is high on that list.”

You shiver, buck your hips against his smooth metal faceplate. Already you've made him slick enough for your pussy to glide against him without any resistance. And this only makes him purr. A soft vibration that draws a moan from your lips, a stutter in your hips.

“You're perfect.“ He says, and despite the direct feedback against your clit, you still pinch your brows, turn away from the praise. But he doesn't let you run. He reaches up and draws your chin back towards him with one cool hand. “No one is as important to me as you are.” He holds the noise, a rough rumble that makes your thighs shake and clench around him.

You bite your lip, want to deflect-- but he beats you to it.

“Shhh,” Louder now, forcefully buzzing- “No one.” He doesn't speak, only hums a smoother, consistent vibration that makes you gasp, rubbing your pussy against his face and grabbing his arm, his head for any support. And he doesn't stop. He holds that same note, makes it easy for your hips to chase that sensation, rutting against him as the heat inside you rises.

“Rama,”

His hands are on you again, sliding down to hold your hips in place, to pull you ever closer- the smooth rumble stops as he speaks again.

“Go on. Show me again how gorgeous you are. Cum for me, just like this.” He purrs again, his voice vibrating right into your clit- and with his hands on your hips you have nowhere to go, no way to escape the incessant rumbling. Pressed so firmly against him, all you can do is shiver and gasp and tug on his cable locs.

The pull surprises him- and he moans. It's all it takes, his own pleasured noises turned to vibrations make you tumble over the edge, grinding onto his face as much as his hands will let you as he purrs his satisfaction. He holds you there, keeps rumbling away until your twitchy aftershocks fade and you begin to slump down, spent and boneless.

He lifts you off himself, adjusting your limp body until you can lay on his chest. You stay there, listening to the soft hum of his internals, his fans spinning heat away from his processors, the vents on his shoulders finally opening to cycle in fresh air.

“Thank you,” You murmur after a while, sneaking a small kiss against the rib-like armored bands on his chest.

He waits a moment, before sighing and stroking your back softly. “It hurts me that your self image is so poor.“

Guilt pierces the afterglow. ”I know.“

Ramattra catches your mood shift instantly. He draws your chin up again, to meet his gaze. Instead you're faced with the cooling, shiny mess you've left on his chin, the proof of his devotion. ”The next time you have such thoughts, tell me immediately. I will correct them.“

The implication makes your cheeks heat again. ”What if I keep having them, what if they don't stop?“

His fingers shift, running his thumb along your lips. “Then I will keep correcting them until they do.”

[cherrychilli]

MDNI, NSFW, AFAB reader, Steve x Shy reader, inexperienced reader, oral sex(F), light pussy spanking, lil bit fluffy? just a smidge

Very much into the idea of Steve discovering his shy girlfriend's collection of steamy romance novels. I had to add a few lines from the first steamy book I ever read when I realized it was released in the 80's. For funsies and just because it happened to fit well in this little nugget of smut hehe.

On the outside they look just like any other cheesy novel, nothing on the covers that suggested otherwise. Completely ordinary looking with softly colored pictures of sun swept countryside's, flowery English gardens and misty meadows. Steve had never wondered about them, having seen them lined neatly on your shelf for as long as the two of you have been together. Even today, they still hadn't piqued his interest but you were yet to finish your shower and he had grown bored of waiting. He isn't selective when he pulls the nearest book out of its place, not very thick and small in his larger hands. The Bride, he mouths the title, looking and feeling unimpressed. He doesn't bother reading the back, choosing to settle at the foot of your bed and flip through it lazily. He lands on pages at random, face scrunching up at the mentions of highlands and lords and arranged marriages. Not his preferred reading material, he confirmed. He skips further ahead, not giving too much attention to the words until...

She tried to cover her breasts by bringing her knees up and leaning forward. "I don't have any clothes on" she informed him.

Steve paused. He goes back and reads it again, this time more carefully. He then wedged a finger between the pages to keep track of his place, quickly turning the book over to glance at the cover again to see if he'd misremembered it somehow within the last five minutes. It's the same as earlier, completely unchanged from his memory. Sprawling green hills, grazing horses and what looked to be a castle in the distance is all that's pictured. Not the kind of book he'd expected to find mentions of nude women being intruded on. "It can't be", he doubts still, flipping the book back open and reading ahead to see if he was really seeing what he thought he was.

Before she could even think to ask him what in heaven's name he was doing, he had her flat on the bed. She didn't have time to blush...

His brows raise slowly, interest very much piqued now. "Oh Princess", he lets out in a low chuckle, lips stretching into grin.

"Sorry to keep you waiting", you stepped out of the bathroom, smelling of peach scented body wash and dressed in your cotton shorts and pajama top. "What do you want to watch tonight?", you asked the boy who was yet to acknowledge you, only mildly curious to see Steve intently paging through one of your books because you couldn't see the cover with the way it was angled towards his lap.

"How about we read instead?" he lifts up the book to reveal the title to you, his lips pulled into the most smug looking smirk you thought possible.

Your body blazes when realization sinks in, eyes going wide with horror. You never thought to hide any of your raunchy books before. You didn't have all that many to begin with and they blended in seamlessly with the rest with their inconspicuous covers. You didn't see the point of tucking them away, letting them sit on your shelf in plain sight. You realize now that may have been a mistake.

"Sweetheart, you had me all fooled", Steve stared you down, looking so very amused. "Made me think you were some innocent little church mouse and here you are reading about...", he looks down at the book again, reading the first line he sees out loud with the widest grin, "her lips so soft, so pliant and when his tongue finally sank deep inside her warm mouth..."

You release a high pitched squeal, running to him to try and snatch the book away before he can read any more. "Steve no!, put that away!", you yelp helplessly but he holds it above his head and out of your reach with ease, craning his neck to read off another sentence with exaggerated glee, entirely too pleased with the circumstances, "I want to touch you the the way you touch me, please? your body belongs to me as much as my body belongs to you doesn't it?"

"Steeeeve!", you pound your fists on his broad chest, feeling a hundred degrees warmer.

He's laughing still but he takes pity on you then, handing you the book as you take it and clutch it to your chest.

"Baby baby, relax ok?", he places a hand on your shoulder reassuringly, laughter ceasing when he notices the troubled look on your face. "It's no big deal, there's nothing wrong with reading about that stuff, you know that right?". You knew it. Of course you knew it, even if your body betrayed you with a tumbling sense of embarrassment that you had found impossible to shake all your life. You answer with a little sniffle, peering up at him through your lashes. "In fact I'm glad you've opened up to it in a way you're comfortable with. I know when we...try things you're a little reserved", he offered gently.

Your face drops then, worry bubbling inside your belly because the last thing you wanted was for Steve to think that you didn't enjoy yourself with him. "It's not because I don't like it! I do! I really like it when you touch me, Steve!" you jump to reassure him only to reflexively shield your burning face with your hands when you realize how forward your little outburst made you sound. You hear him chuckle in that familiar way that he always did when you worked yourself up, feeling him tug lightly at your hands to pry them away from your face. "That's good because I really like touching you", he lets you know with a tender smile and a quick wink.

You relax a little again, looking at him apologetically, trying to explain. "It's just- I feel.."

"Shy" he finished for you. "I know, baby. I think it's cute", he rubs a thumb over your cheek gently. "And I'm sorry for teasing you", dipping down to place a kiss on your cheek in apology.

You smile for the first time since your stomach flipped at the sight of your not so secret book in Steve's hands. "It's ok", you accept. "I just wish I could be more...you know, assertive? And more vocal about what I like".

He looks down at you thoughtfully, mind working until his eyes light up. "Tell you what. You up for some fun?", he cocks an eyebrow up at you suggestively. "Because your book's given me an idea and I think I could help break you out of your shell a little"

You're more than a little intrigued to find out just what he's come up with. "How?"

"Again", he instructs sternly from between your legs and your eyes squeeze shut and you whimper when his sticky palm connects with your bare cunt again. It's never too hard but it's enough to make you jolt and whine when your swollen clit starts to throb again. "I'm sorry, Stevie", you let out in a shaky voice, breath noticeably shallow. "Go on" he prompts, tracing a finger along your folds. You open your eyes and try to focus on the page, looking for the sentence you stuttered through and struggled to finish. You'd been doing this for close to an hour now, playing the little game he had concocted for you. The rules were straightforward - you needed to read out the sex scenes clearly. No hesitation, no stuttering, no skipping, no mumbling and if you did it properly, he'd eat you out while you read. But if you messed up, he'd have to punish you, spanking you between your legs. You'd messed up a couple of times now, enduring several slaps on your soaked pussy but did notice your inhibitions starting to melt away, even if much of them still remained. Just means you have to keep practicing, right?

Taking in a deep breath, you started reading, keen to have Steve's mouth on you again. "He forced her fingers around his shaft, then thrust his fingers inside her again to rid her of her fear...", your voice starts to tremble as you read on, barely resisting the urge to moan when you feel him lap at your puffy folds again, all sensitive from his skillful tongue and forceful palm. He made it harder for you when he groaned against cunt, teasing your hole, sucking on your clit and flicking it with his tongue but you don't want the feeling to end, gripping the book tight as you continued "she welcomed the rush of blazing ecstasy consuming her..."

[viviuxd]

INNOCENT LOVE:a viking fell in love with me!

SYPNOSIS: Given away by her father to one of the most feared Viking kings, she finds herself betrothed. However, the clash between their beliefs and traditions threatens to unravel the union before it even begins. PAIRING: Viking x Christian!reader.

TW:difference in spiritual beliefs, mention of polygamy and death.

You inhaled deeply to calm your nerves, digging your nails into the delicate silk dress while observing the nearby door where your 'future husband' awaited. Truly, you had no intention of marrying him, and you would tell him so. You didn't care if rejecting him meant risking your life; you preferred that over marrying a pagan. You were well aware of Viking customs: they married many women, were cruel, killers, and worst of all, they worshipped pagan gods! You definitely couldn't be with someone like that.

Finally, you stopped walking alongside the guards, facing an immense wooden door. One guard effortlessly opened it, and for the first time, the other guard addressed you.

"Please, this way, miss. King Thorkell is waiting for you," he gestured with his hand for you to enter, offering a faint smile.

"Thank you, sir," you expressed your gratitude, delicately bowing your head to display your manners.

You sighed, closing your eyes, nervous. You walked slowly forward, feeling your legs tremble, your stomach churn, and a nauseating sensation. Upon lifting your gaze, a pang shot through your torso. The mighty King Thorkell stared at you intently, with a lethal gaze, as if he could see your sins. You swallowed hard and, with great effort, made a bow, inclining your body forward.

"King Thorkell."

°१९*०°

She entered the hall escorted by the guards I assigned and I noticed how her whole body trembled as she approached me. Her fear was evident, and I relished in her submission.

I knew she was Christian; they were very ignorant and weak in this world. I despised all those idiots, but the woman in front of me seemed different. Clearly, the ideals she sought in a partner were not ones I could offer, and her innocence was remarkable, her beautiful eyes looking at me with fear and obedience... she was so charming that I desired her for myself in that very moment.

"King Thorkell." I felt a tingling down my back as I heard her sweet voice. I cursed myself for summoning her so soon; I should have prepared for her.

°१९*०°

Your eyes fixated on his bulging muscles, evident even through his clothing. You swallowed hard, realizing the thoughts you had; a Viking could never interest you.

"The wedding will take place as soon as possible, so you shouldn't worry about that. From now on, you will reside in the palace, and a separate chamber will be assigned to you until you adapt. Do you understand, miss?"

You sensed his arrogance in his final words, and you clenched your fist a bit tighter. "How disrespectful," you muttered to yourself.

"King, if you allow me, I have something to say..." You wanted to clear your throat upon hearing your trembling voice. "Speak quickly, I don't have much time."

It was your first conversation, and you truly detested how he addressed you, but you chose to ignore it and demonstrate that you indeed had manners.

"I do not wish to marry you, Your Majesty."

At that moment, pride surged within you. Your words sounded so serious that you felt proud of yourself.

"I don't say it to offend you, only that it goes against my values to unite with..." You paused, carefully choosing your words to avoid upsetting him. "Someone like you."

You saw his jaw tense, and you took a step back when he rose from his throne and slowly walked towards you, his face filled with hatred. You stopped abruptly, colliding with a nearby column, finding yourself cornered by Thorkell.

He leaned towards you, the noticeable difference in height between you two, positioning himself right in front of your face, too close for comfort.

"Someone like me?" He murmured, his breath dangerously nearing you.

[behindthesoul]

Forgotten Child - Ch. 2 (SMUT)

Shang Tsung x Reader

Masterlist || Previous Part || Next Part

Characters - Shang Tsung, you

Summary - Shang realizes he’s more in love with you than he thought.

Word Count - 1149

Warnings - smut (18+ pretty pleaseee), oral sex, reader’s genitalia isn’t specified, Shang is a liar, he hates you and himself, not proofread hehehe

Tags - @mortal-kombat-shitposts

Shang Tsung never anticipated becoming so deeply attached to you. His initial mission was straightforward: earn your trust, gather necessary information, and depart. However, he found himself caught off guard by the way your eyes brightened whenever he entered a room, by the comfort of your embrace after a long day, and by the simple, genuine way you treated him – like a normal person. These unexpected displays of affection and warmth drove him to the brink of insanity.

He snuck into your room late one night, craving your touch. You responded by laying him on your bed and placing kisses on his neck. Shang tenses, he was in his laboratory all day. You’d scream in terror if you saw what went on there.

“I apologize, it was not my intention to make you uncomfortable,” you say after you quickly pull away from him, misreading his tension. “I will stop-”

“No, continue,” he interrupts. Shang forces his body to relax before speaking again. “Please.”

You nod before attacking his neck again, he closes his eyes and memorizes the feeling of your lips on his neck. Soft, slightly chapped lips sucking his skin and leaving marks he’d have to cover before he left in the morning. Shang thinks back to his life just months prior; staring in the mirror at bruises given to him by angry townsfolk. Each scar and bruise handed to him in the past was replaced by your loving marks.

“May I continue?” you ask, pulling Shang back into reality. He never noticed your hand dancing around his crotch. He stiffens under you and nods. But it’s not enough.

“Say it. Let me hear your voice.”

You receive an impatient huff before getting a response. “Yes, continue.”

You hum before you remove his clothes and carefully place them on the floor. Shang doesn’t know what to do with himself when you pause and admire his body. Your eyes hold such tenderness; never had he imagined someone would regard him in such a way. Still, he refuses to wait a minute longer. He grabs your hand and wraps it around the place he needs you most, shuddering as he feels your grip tighten.

You laugh before quickly removing your hand. You spit in your palm, briefly wishing you had a better lubricant, before wrapping it around him again. You experiment with different rhythms until you find the one that made his legs twitch and hands tremble. He bites his lip to prevent moans and gasps from escaping his mouth. You assume he's ensuring no one overhears, yet he's desperate to prevent you from gaining complete control, to stop you from shattering the final barrier guarding his locked-away heart.

It’s almost disgusting how he’s responding to your touch. Blown pupils, disheveled hair, throbbing chest, and a blush decorating his pale skin; It's a striking, almost comical difference from his usual poised and collected demeanor.

He damn near died when you took him in your mouth.

He was already inching toward bliss, but you just had to go ahead and push him closer to the edge. Shang blames his sensitivity on the fact he hasn’t had sex in years, choosing to ignore the part of his brain that reminds him of the night you two shared last week. He finally whimpers when your tongue drags across the crying tip, lapping at the sticky pre-cum. Gazing down at you with half-lidded eyes, he's relieved that your mouth is occupied, well aware that you would likely jest about finally coaxing a sound out of him. Shang feels dizzy as his body burns, signaling his body’s eventual betrayal. With one last swipe over the tip of his dick, he cums with a soft groan, spilling into your mouth. His body jerks with aftershocks and he weakly pushes you off when the pleasure turns into over-sensitivity.

You look down at him and swallow his cum. “Beautifully done, sorcerer,” you say. He huffs in amusement while he catches his breath.

“I think it was you who did the hard work.”

“Hm, I disagree,” you tease. You’re sick, just sick. You just attempted murder and you have the nerve to smile down at him.

Shang manages to catch his breath and decides to be a gentleman. He rolls over and pins you under him, feeling a little irritated when he realizes you’re still fully clothed. Your robes are quickly torn off, different to the way you gently undressed him.

The night is starting to grow tired of keeping you hidden and tells you to hurry by encouraging the sun to rise. Shang groans, annoyed; he won’t be able to take his time with you like he wants. He throws your legs over his shoulder and replicates your earlier movements with his tongue. Swirling, flicking, anything that will make your body give out the way his did - which it does. You’re much more willing to be vulnerable than your lover. You melt into his tongue and allow a string of expletives and moans to escape your mouth. Shang hums when you whine his name and it sends a shiver down your spine. His hands massage your thighs, addicted to the way they tremble.

The birds singing outside signal the end of your moment together, a final warning to you and Shang. He rolls his eyes but encourages you to cum. Your hands find purchase in the bed sheets while your stomach tightens. You cry out with the birds, releasing into his mouth and on the bed sheets. Panting, you squeeze Shang’s hand. He lays down next to you and stares into your eyes.

“When will I be able to tell Outworld you’ve captured my heart?” Shang feels slightly empty when you avert your gaze. He wants to laugh at you suddenly feeling shy when you were choking on his dick just moments earlier.

“Soon, my darling,” he lies, “you can be patient for a little while longer.”

“Well, will you at least give me the pleasure of a nice breakfast? I’ll tell the servants I am not well, and we’ll eat in here.”

“I am afraid not. I must meet with the Empress on important matters.” He almost regrets lying when your face falls. Shang is to assist Quan Chi with setting up the soul stealers. You get out of bed and quickly put your robes back on; he does the same.

“Be in the gardens after dark,” he blurts out. He doesn’t even realize what he’s said until your eyes light up. You nod, before opening your window so he could leave.

“Yes! I will be there!”

With a final nod, Shang gracefully takes his leave from your room. Internally, a torrent of self-directed expletives courses through his thoughts. He berates himself for the hasty commitment he made to meet with you, regretting the words that slipped from his lips so easily.

God, he misses you already.

[eksvaized]

Part ONE [ Next ]

Simon parks the car across the street from a bustling nightclub, carefully manoeuvring it into a vacant parking space. He leans back into the comfortable leather seat, enjoying the serenity that swallows him once he turns off the engine and tosses the keys onto the unoccupied passenger seat. Cracking open the window, he smells a gentle breeze that carries the faint scent of the city's nightlife.

As he reaches for his pack of cigarettes, his fingers twitch. With practised ease, he flicks open the lighter and ignites the end of the cigarette. Taking a long, deep drag, he feels the smoke fill his lungs. The familiar taste of nicotine lingers on his tongue, bringing comfort to his weary body and easing the tension in his shoulders. In the dimly lit interior of the car, Simon becomes a mere silhouette, blending seamlessly into the cold shadows; passersby, engrossed in their own affairs, scarcely spare him a passing glance.

His deep, dark eyes wander across the busy street, fixating on the rowdy individuals who continuously pour in and out of the nightclub. He has no intentions of going in. These kinds of establishments, where the music blares at an unbearable volume, the air is thick with perspiration and alcohol, and navigating through the crowd inevitably leads to frequent shoulder-to-shoulder encounters, do not appeal to him.

However, he had a keen interest in observing people and their behaviours. Simon finds himself particularly drawn to intoxicated women, who seem to be his preferred subjects of observation. He attentively analyses and judges their actions, paying particular attention to their clothing choices. He notes that many of them choose to dress in short skirts that barely cover their assets, revealing bare backs in flimsy blouses, and exposed cleavages, which guys gawk at without even bothering to disguise their stares.

Simon can't help but question their fashion choices, wondering how they can dress like that and expect not to be groped. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He tosses the cigarette out of the window and then lights another one, oblivious to the fact that a thick cloud of grey smoke has grown inside the car and that the pungent scent of tobacco is sticking to the leather upholstery.

Simon's attention is drawn to a group of men. They appear to be in high spirits, stumbling around, laughing boisterously, and playfully gesturing at people walking by. Suddenly, their focus shifts as they notice a woman with long legs, dressed in a skimpy red dress. She completely steals the spotlight, and one of them even whistles in appreciation, hoping the woman will stop and look at them.

Simon, unimpressed by their behaviour, and to be honest, slightly disgusted, can't help but roll his eyes in response.

His stakeout is growing increasingly tiresome and monotonous. A yawn, filled with drowsiness, escapes him as he sits in the car. His fingers lightly tap on the steering wheel twice before he scratches his chin. The thought of going home crosses his mind, as it is already late, and he knows he has to wake up early tomorrow. However, just as he turns on the engine, causing the car to emit a gentle hum, he takes a moment to stretch out his stiff back, which causes his gaze to land upon you.

As you stumble out of the club towards the solid brick wall, you feel its rough texture against your fingertips and lean against it for support. Simon watches you with piqued curiosity and notices you fumbling with your purse. You pull out a lighter. Intrigued, he pauses and lets his hands drop into his lap. Are you alone? You must be; five minutes pass and no one approaches you.

Before Simon can fully comprehend his actions, he swiftly exits the car and locks it. While fiddling with the keys, he crosses the street and approaches you from the back. You're utterly unaware of his presence. His eyes smoothly glide down the contours of your body. You are wearing a flowy black dress. The fabric hugs your body in all the right places. Your back is exposed. His fingers quiver, and he clenches his hands into tight fists, resisting the urge to caress your exposed skin. Unlike other women tonight, you have chosen practicality over fashionable heels, a decision that may prove to be in your best interest since, based on his observations, walking in a straight line seems to be a challenging feat for you.

You feel a gentle tap on your shoulder, causing you to wobble. Slowly, you turn around, your body never peeling away from the brick wall that is keeping you grounded. He wets his lips with his tongue, and a faint smile forms on his face when your eyes meet his gaze.

"Have a light?" He tilts his head, watching as your drowsy eyes shift towards his lips and the cigarette, which is wedged between his teeth.

You nod and fumble with your purse once again, handing him the lighter. You feel the warmth of his hand as your fingers graze against his while he takes it from your palm. A jolt of excitement runs down your spine, sending shivers through your entire body. The heat rushes to your cheeks, colouring your face a bright, rosy red.

"Having fun?" Simon asks, making you shrug.

"I guess," you reluctantly respond, your voice trailing off. You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing against your weary body. Leaning against the cool bricks, you close your heavy eyelids for a second. All you want to do is lay somewhere down, curl up and sleep until your head stops spinning. But instead, with a hint of curiosity, you return the question, "And what about you?"

"Not really. Came here to pick up a friend, but it seems like he ditched me." Simon is unsurprised when the lie comes effortlessly to him.

"Bummer." A giggle slips past your lips as you watch him smoke, the cigarette loosely dangling between his thumb and index finger.

He is tall, incredibly tall, towering above everyone, including you. When you speak with him, you find yourself tilting your head back to meet his gaze; otherwise, you are left staring at his chest. His dishevelled, dirty blonde hair adds to his rugged charm, and he absentmindedly runs his fingers through it every few seconds. His eyes dart around, never settling on anything or anyone for too long. But the moment you capture his gaze, you become spellbound by it.

You notice that his lips are moving, and you can hear the faint sound of his voice. However, you are too tired to make out his words that are buzzing over in your head. It is challenging to concentrate on the conversation. The desire to wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss him consumes your thoughts. You know it's bold and maybe a little slutty and desperate, but you had no luck tonight with the guys inside the club. And, since you are drunk — you get a free pass tonight. You are allowed to make questionable choices, fully aware that you will probably regret them in the morning when the inevitable hangover sets in.

Simon notices that your head is floating in the clouds and that whatever he is saying is coming in your one ear and flying out of the other. He doesn't mind, though. He enjoys just being near you. But the more he stands, towering over your small frame, watching as your delicate fingers play with the loose thread on your dress, the more he begins to realise how foolish you are.

You are all alone. You came here without friends, and to make matters worse, you consumed an excessive amount of alcohol and now you find yourself engaged in a conversation with a complete stranger, who for all you could know is thinking about how to drag you away from the crowd and lure you into the dark alley, where he could bend you over, lift your dress and tear your panties off.

Could you be any more dumb and reckless? Yes. Yes, you absolutely can. Because when Simon offers to give you a ride, you take him on the offer without blinking twice, not even considering the possibility of him being a crazy serial killer.

As you collapse into the passenger seat, after telling him your address, you fail to notice that he is not driving you home. The car speeds through the unfamiliar streets, the blur of buildings and street signs barely registering in your mind.

Simon's heart races in his chest. His fingers nervously tap against the steering wheel as he firmly presses down on the gas pedal. His mind is a maelstrom of thoughts, swirling faster than he can make sense of them. On the surface, however, he maintains a cool and composed demeanour, appearing almost unaffected and disinterested.

"Did I already ask for your name?" you ask, turning to face him. "I believe I might have, but... I had way too many shots and drank, at the very least, three or four piña coladas, so I'm feeling a little woozy."

He glances at you.

"Simon."

"Simon." You repeat his name, letting each letter roll off your tongue slowly before you click your teeth; he wishes you would say it again, again and again. "I'm Y/N, in case I didn't introduce myself either."

A heavy silence settles in, creating a stillness that engulfs the car and swallows you. He turns on the heat and the warmth envelops your body, letting another wave of drowsiness wash over you, tempting you to succumb to slumber. However, you're determined to stay awake.

You muster all your energy to stay alert and engaged. In an effort to stave off the impending sleep, you decide to break the silence and start a conversation, hoping it would be enough for you to keep your eyes wide open.

However, just as you turn your gaze towards Simon, his hand swiftly rises, surprising you with its sudden movement. Instantly, his palm firmly presses against the side of your head. His fingers sink into your hair as he grasps a handful of it. The pain shoots through your body, causing you to let out a sharp yelp and instinctively recoil. Before you have a chance to demand him to let you go, he forcefully smashes your head against the cool glass.

As the excruciating pain surges through your body, causing your eyes to roll to the back of your head, you find your consciousness slipping away. Your body slumps in the seat. A sinister smile curls on Simon's lips, and he accelerates the car. The sound of the engine drowning out all the traces of his dark intentions.

[miguelswifey04]

sweetheart

sugar daddy! miguel x sugar baby! reader

CW: established relationship, fluff, slight nsfw but not explicit just more so fluffy <3

a/n: i know everyone is hooked on dbf! miguel but i cannot let go of sugar daddy! miguel soooo, here’s a little drabble of my continuation of sugar daddy! miguel who loves to spoil his baby <3

with a charming smile, miguel took your hand, leading you into a luxurious penthouse that he had reserved for the two of you. the room was adorned with elegant furnishings, a testament to his desire to provide the best for you.

“my love, this suite is just a small token of my appreciation for you," he whispered, his voice laced with adoration. "i want to spoil you, to make you feel cherished and adored."

you felt a warmth spread through your heart, overwhelmed by the tenderness and affection miguel expressed. this was far more than a materialistic offering; it was an expression of his devotion to you.

throughout your time together, miguel made it his mission to anticipate your wants and needs, ensuring that you lacked nothing. he surprised you with thoughtful gifts, each one carefully chosen to reflect your interests and desires.

the nights spent together were filled with passion and intimacy as miguel poured his affection upon you. he reveled in exploring your body, making it his personal mission to bring you pleasure and fulfill your every desire.

his touch was both tender and possessive, his kisses eager and passionate. he delighted in the sensation of your skin beneath his, your bodies entwined in a dance of ecstasy. with each intimate moment, he made sure you felt cherished and wanted, knowing that your pleasure was his greatest satisfaction.

beyond the physical, miguel was always there to lend a listening ear and offer support. he listened intently as you shared your dreams and concerns, providing words of encouragement and guidance. he guided you through all your endeavors and your goals no matter what it took for you to reach them.

in public, he held your hand proudly, demonstrating to the world that you were his and that he adored you endlessly. he introduced you to new experiences and places, ensuring that you felt a sense of adventure and fulfillment by his side. miguel loves to take you to a high-end boutique, urging you to choose whatever your heart desires. you browse through racks of designer clothes, shoes, and accessories, feeling the excitement of indulgence. miguel’s smile widens as he sees the joy on your face with each new purchase, delighting in the ability to spoil you.

the affectionate gestures were never in short supply with miguel. from gentle kisses on the forehead to spontaneous surprises, he made sure you knew how much you meant to him. he showered you with affection and whispered sweet nothings, making your heart skip a beat.

———

a/n: ngl i love soft miguel over possessive miguel heheh <3